


Lone Wolf of Harran

by Tafferling



Category: Dying Light
Genre: Gen, Werewolf AU, coarse language
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-26
Updated: 2018-04-26
Packaged: 2019-04-28 08:07:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14444976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tafferling/pseuds/Tafferling
Summary: Babar Kizi-something was totally full of shit. Garlic? Wolfsbane? Cinnamon? Eat all that and your lycanthropy was cured? Holy shit, no, that wasn’t how this worked.And Kyle would know.





	Lone Wolf of Harran

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MaverickWerewolf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaverickWerewolf/gifts).



> For Mav, because werewolves. And for Mav because Crane.

**B** abar Kizi- _something_ was full of shit.

Literally, since he _smelled like it_ (When’d he last had a shower? Before the first man had chomped down on another man?), and figuratively. Because garlic? Cinnamon? _Wolfsbane?_

Kyle winced. At least the idiot had no clue whatsoever what wolfsbane really looked like, and whatever purple flower he’d found wasn’t about to outright kill him. Taste like shit? Probably, though _Jesus fucking Christ,_ what a tool.

Maybe he should have said something. Anything. Whack the weirdo over the head and carry him to the Tower, but whatever. Instead, Kyle watched, in absolute disgust, as Babar had himself a spoonful of cinnamon powder to dust down the, quotation mark, wolfsbane, quotation mark close. And promptly almost choked on the lot, right before he declared himself cured.

Cured of being a werewolf.

Yeah. Right. He huffed. Scratched at the seat of his jeans, because they were getting itchy with how fucking _hot_ it was here and he collected itchy spots in all the places he really didn’t need them.

So— yeah— Babar Kizi- _something_ was totally full of shit. That wasn’t how this worked. Kyle would know.

 **H** e spent the tail end of the day definitely _not_ eating cinnamon, but being arguably useful. The kind of useful that left him itching all over and much, much worse, and _really_ couldn’t wait until nightfall. Which, by the by, really fucking confused people, and yeah, so they thought he had a death wish, not bothering with returning to the Tower and snore the hours away until the sun’d come up again.

No, Kyle didn’t need the Tower. He had a place of his own, and his own it’d be, because he didn’t like sharing. Not that, anyway. Not the place where— _aaaah—_ the pants came off, _shit that felt good._ Kyle hobbled on one leg, shook the other out of his jeans, and then repeated the motion with the other until he flung the thing off into the distance with a jerk of his leg. It landed in a pile in the corner, right on top of the already discarded (and really fucking soaked) shirt, his belt, and shoes and the socks stuffed into said shoes.  

The boxers he kept on. Always did, because _excuse me,_ he wasn’t a barbarian going streaking through the streets. Just a werewolf, and yes, werewolves have manners, shut up. No fucking way he’d be airing his nuts in the open, no matter how slim the chance of anyone catching a look.

To be fair, it’d taken him forever to find the _perfect_ brand and fit, ones that didn’t come off or rip, but stayed on no matter how intense the night. And hoo boy, did his nights usually get intense. Yeah, often like _that,_ exactly like _that,_ but then he didn’t need the boxers, okay.

But there were also nights like these.

 **W** hen Kyle had signed up for Harran, he’d expected zombies, and he’d expected lots of shit work. He’d _not_ expected Rais and he’d _not_ expected to get bitten, and he’d definitely not expected to find himself loving every second past nightfall.

It’d been— what— how long? Good as forever? Yeah, that was about right. It’d been good as forever since he’d last got to run in a city. Properly run. Run how he’d been built to run, with the wind whistling by his ears and catching on fur.

Kyle jogged on the spot, bare feet pressing down on gritty, dusty wooden floors. Pumped his fists. Felt his heart pick up. Pressure build in his chest. A searing throb build against the base of his neck and lance up into his brain.

Hated that. He hated that. Always had and always would, but fuck it, right? Sure, what was about to come put every single one of those shitty seizures to shame, but it was worth it. Always had been. Always would be.

Especially in Harran. Where all that’d wait out there in the night, were just a lot of _other_ monsters. Him and them, and Kyle was pretty damn convinced he could put on a good show on being the _bigger_ one. Yeah. Bigger one. Him. How the fuck had no one caught on yet anyway? Did they _really_ think catching your fall on a pile of garbage bags without shattering your spine was _normal?_ Pffft. Idiots.

Then Kyle screamed.

That always happened, too, whether he wanted it to or not. And out there, the monsters replied, screeching and yowling, all out of tune with the night.

Sounded like shit.

He dropped to one knee. Then the other. Fell over on his side, and the world dipped out from under him as, for a few thundering heartbeats, it was nothing but red, hot nothing stitched together from pain.

Worth. It.

When the tremors stopped, the ones that’d made him rip rivulets into the wooden floor, he took a moment. Perked his ears. Let his tongue hang out and sucked in stale Harran air. Death hung in it. Heavy. Thick. _That_ was a downside, that even the air was dirty here. Where was the scent of fresh food? Fat sizzling on a grill. Perfume. Aftershave. Sweat and alcohol, wafting out from packed crowds in a club, the air itself shaking with music beating at it.

That’s what he wanted.

Couldn’t have that. Not here. Not home either, because home was behaving. _Can’t do that Kyle, what were you thinking— I wasn’t thinking, I just wanted._

Kyle shook his shoulders. Huffed. Turned his head over to a window. In it, moved his reflection. A flash of dark eyes set in a coat of chocolate merle, the sexiest fucking werewolf in the neighbourhood.

And the only one—

Which stung. A little. Even if he had a lot of things to play with. Monsters to chase, but where was the fun in that on his own? Kyle let out a sad little whine. Shook his shoulders again. Growled at nothing in particular, and _really_ missed his pack. Fuck the lone wolf routine. Seriously. That was lame as hell.

Lame like those stupid yowling monsters out there. Couldn’t hold a tone for shit, could they? Not like him. Kyle threw his head back. Howled. Let his voice rip from the small shack, and out into the night, told Harran, without doubt, that yeah. Yeah, he was the much bigger monster within those walls, and him and the night? They were old pals. Belonged together. And he was not past making a point to show it.

 


End file.
